


though the truth may vary

by finkpishnets



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Background Simon Lewis/Isabelle Lightwood, Fix-It, Found Family, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 19:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19180072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finkpishnets/pseuds/finkpishnets
Summary: “Seventy years I managed to avoid living in a telenovela,” Raphael says, “and thenyouhappened.”“You’re welcome,” Simon says earnestly, and reaches for the table nuts to see how many he can get in Jace’s beer before he notices.[Or: Simon's lonely, Raphael's lost, and somewhere along the way they accidentally become a family.]





	though the truth may vary

**Author's Note:**

> long time no see, shadowhunters fandom! 
> 
> so, i...haven't actually seen 3b. i _did_ however make hoechlder tell me everything that happened and then have her read through this for me to make sure it made sense because she's awesome. as is jedbartlet, who informed me that it is, in fact, readable.
> 
> set post-malec wedding etc. but before the flashforward, and pays very (very) little respect to canon.
> 
> feat. lonely simon, lost raphael, the beginnings of a found family, and more ocs then i should ever be allowed to write.
> 
>  **warning;** this story features a child being turned into a vampire and the fallout. there's nothing explicit but the inevitable trauma of it is mentioned. it also features background simon/izzy up to and through a break up.
> 
> i have another post-canon fic i want to write set a lot further in the future and feat. simon in bedazzled booty shorts. maybe one day.

**~**

 

 

Simon could probably come up with a million excuses for why he’s here.

Well.

Ten, at _least_.

“It’s _better_ ,” he says, because really he just needs to talk to someone who’s not rocking runes. “I mean, no one's pulling a Lando Calrissian these days, and everything seems a lot more chill.”

“Chill,” Raphael says, like the word’s foreign to him. Simon knows he was around during the sixties though so that’s bullshit.

“Yeah, _chill_. Or, you know, as chill as a bunch of supernatural beings with clashing politics can be.”

Raphael snorts. “Sure.”

The sitting room’s surprisingly comfortable in a ‘straight from the pages of Modern Living’ kind of way. Simon had always assumed Camille was responsible for the leather and theatrics of the Hotel Du Mort, but now he’s starting to think Raphael may have been playing out his own Anne Rice tainted interior design dreams. At least this place is clear of the black and red; the cream walls and brown leather chairs are a warm alternative even in the evening light.

There’s an entire wall of bookshelves stuffed to the brim, old family photos in shining gold frames, and a few trinkets he’d lay money on Magnus regifting.

It’s… _homely_.

“Are those coffee table books?” he asks, and can practically feel Raphael rolling his eyes.

“Why are you _here?_ ”

“Because we’re friends now,” Simon informs him. He’s pretty sure that’s true. Raphael’s smiled at him, like, three whole times recently. Or, smiled in his general vicinity. Same thing.

“…Right,” Raphael says, clearly gritting his teeth. “Which definitely explains how you know where I live.”

“Oh,” Simon says, waving a dismissive hand, “I followed you.”

Raphael makes a noise in the back of his throat, and Simon can’t pretend he doesn’t find it at least a little satisfying.

“I’m a vampire…” He almost says ‘ _too_ ’ and — amazingly — manages to stop himself. He’s not sure how okay with the whole mundane thing Raphael is. Actually, he’s not sure how okay Raphael is with _Izzy_ , wedding pleasantries aside, considering the role she played. He _thinks_ everything’s copacetic but he’s never exactly been the world’s leading expert in Raphael’s emotions.

 _Except anger and betrayal_ , he thinks, and shuts _that_ down quick.

“I suppose it could be worse,” Raphael says, and there’s a bite of his old self in it, the one who doesn’t smile serenely and pretend everything’s okay. “The Shadowhunters could have it on file.”

Simon’s sure they _do_ ; Raphael probably knows that too, but sometimes denial is a freedom.

“Anyway, I was just…checking in,” he says, and then, quickly: “Not _for_ anyone, just…for me. To see, you know, how you were doing. And stuff.”

Raphael quirks an eyebrow. Somehow it still has the same devastating effect even with Simon _knowing_ he’s human.

“Because we’re friends,” Raphael repeats, and Simon winces.

“Yes?”

He meets Raphael’s eyes, lets him search for whatever it is he needs and isn’t sure why it matters so much, just knows that it _does_.

“Okay,” Raphael says eventually.

Simon tries not to visibly sigh in relief.

 _Okay_.

 

 

**~**

 

 

“I’m so sorry,” Izzy says for the third time that week, and Simon shrugs it off because there’s nothing else he can do.

“No, it’s totally fine,” he says. “You’re a big deal now. Not that you weren’t before! Just…a _bigger_ deal.”

Izzy laughs. “It’s okay, I know. But I really _am_ sorry. I was looking forward to it.”

“Another time,” Simon says, and lets her hang up when the people clamouring for her attention become insistent.

It’s not fair to be disappointed; he’d known what he was getting into when they started dating.

Well.

He’d _sort_ of known.

Honestly, it hadn’t crossed his mind that she’d be working so much. He’d kind of assumed that after the inter-Shadowhunter murder was over and done with life would settle back into something resembling normal.

Not that he knows what normal looks like, but it would be nice to see each other for more than five minutes every now and then.

With a sigh he picks up the phone and waits for it to ring an unnecessary length of time.

“‘Sup?” Jace says casually like he hasn’t just deliberately waited until right before his cell went to voicemail to answer because he’s a petty, petty man.

“I have tickets to Cage the Elephant tonight,” Simons says. “Wanna come?”

“Izzy bailed again, huh?” Jace says, because he’s a dick. “Sure. I’ll need to eat first though. Meet me at Gilligans?”

Simon groans. “Fine. But don’t you dare order for me and then tell the waitress I have a stomach bug when I can’t eat.”

“That was once,” Jace says sounding too amused. “Later.”

“Later,” Simon says, signing off and grabbing a bottle of O neg from the fridge. 

Sometimes he misses Clary so much it hurts, but Jace’s friendship is one of the few good things to come out of all this.

Not that he’d ever tell Jace that.

He checks his email to find he’s been cc’d in a report from Team Malec about some mumble-jumble concerning loopholes in Shadowhunters and Downworlder legal wording that he should probably read through properly sometime, and a newsletter for a band he hasn’t listened to in years. Maia’s tagged him in an Instagram post about the Twilight resurgence because she’s a terrible person.

Other than that it’s all silent.

Which is _fine_.

He opens the YouTube app and spends the next hour watching every video the algorithm recommends.

 

 

**~**

 

 

“Movie night!” Simon says, and Jace shakes his head.

“No can do, man,” he says. “Plans.”

 _Plans_ usually means _Clary_ , and Simon would hold an intervention except Jace has actually managed not to cross the line from basic protective detail to stalker. Simon’s pretty impressed.

“Alec and Magnus can’t make it either,” Izzy says, putting a pair of diamond earrings in as she leaves the bathroom. “Alec just called. They’ve got an early council.”

“Uh,” Simons says hopefully, “so we’re dressing up and doing something else instead?”

Izzy pulls an apologetic face.

“A contingent from Nigeria are portaling in and I have to be the meet and greet,” she says. “I’d totally ask you to be my date, but…”

“But rocking up with the vampire boyfriend doesn’t set the right tone,” he finishes. “I get it.”

“Ouch,” Jace says under his breath, and Simon winces because _yeah_.

“Maybe Maia’s free,” he says even though he knows she won’t be. Unlike him, Maia actually has both a job _and_ a social life. “Fine, abandon me, I’ll just marathon Edgar Wright movies and read creepy reddit threads. Oh, to be young and immortal!”

“That’s the spirit,” Jace says, patting him consolingly on the shoulder.

Izzy kisses him sweetly in goodbye, and Simon waves them off, pretending the sinking feeling in his chest is a temporary thing.

He can’t even say it’s a conscious thought, but suddenly he misses the Hotel DuMort with an almost crippling intensity. Music and laughter and whispered conversations bouncing between the walls at all hours of the night, blood on tap and almost constant company. At the time it had felt suffocating; now he wonders who’s staying in his old room.

He shakes it off.

He’d burnt that bridge years ago, and even if Raphael _were_ still holding court under its roof, the rest of the clan were never his biggest fans.

“Blood Ice and _Hot Fuzz_ it is,” he says and tries not to focus on the fact that no one’s around to hear him.

 

 

**~**

 

 

“You’re back,” Raphael says. He’s frowning like he’s not sure whether it’s a surprise or not.

“Yeah,” Simon says, and tries not to gawk at the pale gray knitted aran sweater Raphael’s wearing like it isn’t totally out of character.

He obviously does a shit job because Raphael crosses his arms over his chest and says, “It’s cold.”

“Okay,” Simon says. “Want to get coffee?”

Honestly, Raphael should be used to his conversational jumps by now but maybe humanity slows response time or something because it takes him a few seconds.

“Alright,” he says, and if there’s a healthy dose of suspicion in it Simon won’t hold it against him.

Raphael grabs his wallet from the side table and locks the door firmly behind him, and they set off at a cripplingly slow pace. Simon’s plan hadn’t really extended beyond ambushing Raphael with the invite, so he’s relived when Raphael leads them to a small place a few blocks away.

“It’s on me,” Simon says eagerly, and Raphael hums.

“Uh huh,” he says. “Did you gain a regular income when I wasn’t looking?”

“Um,” Simon says, which— fair point. He’s been carefully avoiding looking at his bank account for months. 

“I have fifty years of afterlife on you,” Raphael says, “and the sense to develop a stock portfolio.”

“Huh,” Simon says, and lets Raphael buy him a tall mocha. Raphael gets himself the largest black coffee on the menu, and it’s only when he sighs at the first gulp that Simon notices the bags under his eyes.

“Tired?”

“ _Exhausted_ ,” Raphael says, and he really must be to expose that kind of vulnerability. “It feels like I’m never really awake.”

Simon laughs. “That sounds like every semester of college.”

Raphael waves a dismissive hand. “I’m not _in_ college,” he says. “I’m not doing _anything_ , and I’m tired _all_ the _time_.”

There’s something desperate in it, and Simon wants to make another joke, laugh it off, but Raphael’s serious, his dejected frown a clear sign that something’s wrong.

“Okay,” he says. “Have you seen a doctor?”

“Yes,” Raphael says begrudgingly. “Apparently I’m completely healthy. Apparently this is just how people _feel_.”

“Yeah,” Simon says, and then, because he doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut, “uh, sometimes it’s not physical though? Like, maybe it’s…” He waves a hand in front of his head.

“I know what depression is,” Raphael says as if he’s speaking to a child. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s part of it. Given…everything.”

“Everything,” Simon echoes, and thinks it’s such a mild word to sum up a collision of tragedies and chaos. 

“Mostly I think it’s just humanity,” he says, sounding confused, and Simon hums. “Anyway.” He shakes his head, “did you want something?”

“No,” Simon says, frowning. “Just…coffee.”

“Oh,” Raphael says, and if anything he looks _more_ confused.

Simon gets it. For all his adamancy that they’re friends, it’s not like they’ve ever had much to show for it. Maybe once, a long time ago. Before Simon helped Clary free Camille and set off a chain of events that left Raphael on unsteady ground. Everything since then has been one disaster after another, and Simon may subscribe to the Shadowhunter way of life, but that doesn’t mean he can’t see the destruction and hypocrisy it's left in its wake.

It’s been too long for apologies, and Simon’s not sure he’d make them anyway, but it doesn’t mean he can’t see his part in all this for what it was.

“So what _are_ you doing with your time?” he asks, reaching for safe pleasantries.

“Not a lot,” Raphael says. “I was serious about the Priesthood idea, but…I think I just missed the novelty of being able to step inside a church. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always been a good Catholic boy, but that was mostly for my mother’s sake.”

“I get that,” Simon says, because he does, a little. “I took economics for my mom. I would have done a music production course if I hadn’t wanted to make her happy.”

“Have you thought about going back to school?” Raphael asks, and Simon shakes his head.

“Not really. It just seems kinda pointless now, you know?”

What he wants to say is ‘ _everything_ feels pointless now’, but that feels too nihilistic, too dramatic, and he doesn’t mean it the way it would sound. It’s just— He’s spent so long _surviving_ , he’s not sure what to do now he’s stuck in a succession of days.

“I know,” Raphael says, and Simon thinks maybe he gets it anyway. 

It’s strange, being so careful around someone who’s thrown him into walls and held him back through early bloodlust and seen him at his literal worst. Raphael’s never been a saint, but despite the threats and trademark glare, push come to shove, he’s always had Simon’s back.

Yet here they are, drinking coffee and making smalltalk. 

Honestly, Simon misses the wall-throwing.

“This is ridiculous,” he says, because he may as well be honest. “I think I liked it better when you were judging my life choices and yelling at me with your eyebrows.”

Raphael blinks. “Trust me, I still judge your life choices.”

“When did we become different people?” Simon says, and it’s not really a question but Raphael replies to it like one.

“You think you’ve changed?”

He thinks about it — _really_ thinks about it — and Raphael waits patiently while he does, sipping at his coffee.

“No,” Simon says eventually, and Raphael offers him a small nod. “No.”

“And?” Raphael pushes, not unkindly.

“And maybe that’s the problem.”

 

 

**~**

 

 

“Hypothetically,” Simon says, three days later, “what are some of the life choices you’re currently judging me for?”

He’s sprawled out across one of Raphael’s comfortable brown leather couches, his shoes abandoned somewhere near the front door and a glass of blood-spiked whiskey in his hand. There’s a Dylan record playing softly in the background that Simon would bet is a first press, and the ice in Raphael’s own blood-free drink clinks when he leans back in his armchair.

“You mean besides your taste in clothes?” 

“Obviously,” Simon says, rolling his eyes. Raphael’s made it _abundantly_ clear over the years how he feels about Simon’s sartorial choices, and he’s still just as wrong, so.

Raphael sighs. “You don’t want to hear it.”

“I asked,” Simon points out, but he’s also pretty sure he’s right. Historically, he’s not been the _best_ at taking Raphael’s advice.

“How many vampires do you know?” Raphael asks pointedly, and Simon sighs.

“Like, personally?”

Raphael’s unimpressed.

“You’re still socializing almost exclusively with Shadowhunters.”

“There’s Maia and Magnus,” Simon says weakly. He knows what Raphael’s saying and it’s not something he wants to think about.

“Magnus is a good friend to have,” Raphael says, and the fond undercurrent is as startling as it always is. Even knowing they consider each other family, it’s still strange to think about. “But he can’t be the only one.”

Simon groans. “I get it. I’m gonna live a long, lonely life.”

“You’re already lonely,” Raphael says, and the brutal honestly of it hits like a four-by-four. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

Simon sits up straight, planting his elbows on his knees and staring into his glass.

“Really short-changing yourself there, buddy,” he says, and winces when the false humor lands flat.

“Oh no,” Raphael says, “I know the honor’s all yours.”

“Hey, you’re the one who told Izzy what a great guy I am,” Simon points out and watches the tips of Raphael’s ears flush.

It’s _fascinating_.

“Yeah, well, consider the rest of the company she keeps.” 

“Yourself included?” Simon prods.

“Not anymore.”

Which.

 _Yeah_.

That is not a topic Simon’s willing to touch with a bargepole.

“Just admit you like me,” he says instead, and settles back into his skin when Raphael rolls his eyes.

“You’re not as insufferable as you used to be,” he offers, and looks like even that’s a push. It’s such a _Raphael_ thing to say that Simon can’t help but laugh.

“Thanks!”

They sit in silence for a moment, listening as the record changes track. 

“I’m serious, though,” Raphael says eventually, and Simon nods.

“I know,” he says, because he does and because Raphael’s right. He’s spent so long trying to be one of the Good Guys™ that it’s never occurred to him to get off his high horse and think about the future.

And, yeah.

It’s probably time to start.

 

 

**~**

 

 

The trouble with wanting to change is working out _where_ to start.

The truth is, Simon kind of — not to sound like Jace or anything — _likes_ himself. Most of the time anyway. Or, like, sixty percent. The abs and perfect eyesight versus the blood lust kind of tip the scale day to day.

This isn’t a _learning_ moment; not one he’s willing to credit Raphael with anyway. He doesn’t want to change his wardrobe or get a haircut or a personality transplant. He’s had enough changes in his life, thanks, and all he’s really looking for is, well…

_Purpose._

Because apparently he’s a walking, talking self-help book now.

“I’ll be ten minutes,” Izzy says, grabbing a file from the desk he’s perched on, sitting crossed-legged and playing Candy Crush on his phone. “Magnus and Alec are going to meet us at there.”

“Great,” Simon says, and honestly means it. It turns out ‘normality’ really just means a shit-ton of boring admin and endless meetings, and Simon’s super proud of all his friends and their new-found responsibilities, but he’s also willing to snap at the chance for a couple of hours of their time.

He’s trying to make a combo when he feels the weirdly specific vibes of another vampire in the vicinity. A quick glance shows a guy with neon yellow hair and a pretty awesome collection of iron-on patches across his pale denim jacket.

“‘Sup,” he says, and Simon nods back.

“Hey.” 

The guy blows a bright pink bubble with his gum that Simon’s shockingly impressed by, and then asks, “So you’re the Daylighter?”

“Uh,” Simon says, trying not to tense up. “Yeah.”

The guy just nods again. “Cool.”

“Simon,” Simon says, and wonders why he suddenly feels like a high school freshman.

“Jagger,” the guys says, “nice to meet ya.”

There’s a long pause, and Simon’s filing through a list of increasingly inappropriate smalltalk when Jagger saves him.

“So, you’re pretty new, huh?”

“Uh,” Simon says, and wonders if he’s supposed to take offence. Jagger doesn’t _look_ like he’s being a dick; in fact he mostly just looks interested. “Yeah, couple of years.”

“No shit,” Jagger says. “Total baptism by fire, huh?”

“Ha,” Simon says, “definitely. How about you?”

“Me? Nah, dude. I was Turned in the eighties. DnD convention out in Wyoming. Woke up the next night and finished the campaign before I even realized the adrenaline was more than just a good game, ya know?”

Simon doesn’t know. Simon has no idea, but holy shit, he _loves_ it.

“What class?”

“Oh man, I was playing as the coolest gnome monk, it was rad,” Jagger says, waving his hands and emphasising the wicked design on his nails. 

“So what brings you to the angel nest?” Simon asks, because, actually, that’s a good point. Besides him, the only time other vamps tend to rock up is for Very Serious Council Meetings or because they’ve, you know, murdered a bunch of people.

“Just checkin’ in,” Jagger says. “I’m a rove, so I get less hassle if I let the supernatural feds know I’m in town.”

“A rove?” Simon asks.

“Sure, aren’t you one, too? Loner vampdom, dude. It has some perks, but there’s a lot to be said for clan protection, y’know?”

Simon hadn’t realized there was a word for it. It sounds kind of familiar, though, which probably means it’s something Raphael tried to drill into him in the early days of their acquaintance when Simon was more interested in pushing his buttons.

Uh, he probably owes Raphael a fruit basket or something.

He’s wondering if it’s bad manners to interrogate someone you just met for answers about yourself when Izzy returns.

“Ready?” she asks, shooting Jagger a curious look, and Simon hops down from the desk.

“Nice to meet you, man,” he says, and Jagger nods an easy goodbye. “Hey,” he says to Izzy when they’re halfway to the door. “I’ll be right back.”

Jagger’s still stood in the same place, staring at the ceiling, obviously waiting on Shadowhunter time, and he blinks in surprise at Simon’s reappearance.

“So, this might be super weird,” Simon says, and prays he’s not making a complete idiot of himself. If he is, he’s blaming Raphael. “My local comic store does these awesome game nights — all sorts of tabletop stuff — so, like, if you maybe wanted to hang out while you’re in town….?”

Jagger’s smile is easy and pleased.

“That sounds rad, man, yeah. For sure.”

“Great. Awesome. Fantastic,” Simon says, and wonders in the ground will swallow him whole at any time, really, please. “Uh, here’s my number.” 

He snags a spare sheet of paper he hopes isn’t a top secret document or something and scribbles down his cell digits. Jagger folds it up and slips it in his pocket, giving Simon a salute.

“Who was that?” Izzy asks when he rejoins her, and Simon wonders if his grin is as big as it feels.

“Another rove,” Simon says, and leaves it at that.

 

 

**~**

 

 

“I made a friend!” Simon declares, letting himself into Raphael’s place via the balcony.

Raphael glares at him from where he’s curled up with a blanket and book. “Your mother and I are so proud.”

Simon ignores him and drops onto the couch, blinking against the light. Apparently Raphael’s afraid of the dark or something, because every lamp in his apartment seems to be on. It has the bonus of highlighting the giant circles under Raphael’s eyes, and Simon would ask but he doesn’t really want the leather-bound book in Raphael’s hand to be aimed at his head.

“A _vampire_ friend,” he emphasizes.

“Someone from a New York clan?” Raphael asks, looking curious, and Simon snorts.

“Nope. A fellow _rove_.” 

“Oh God,” Raphael says, and has the audacity to rub at his temples like Simon’s giving him a headache. “Of course you did.”

“Hey, lay off. His name’s Jagger and he’s a fellow nerd. We’ve been playing _Betrayal at House on the Hill_ at ComiCorner this week, and then he took me to this bar in Harlem that serves the _best_ blood martinis.”

Raphael sighs but doesn’t immediately tell Simon he’s an idiot, so either he’s sick or Simon’s done something right. To be fair, he doesn’t look a hundred percent, but Simon chooses to believe it’s the latter for the sake of his own ego.

“How’s your day been?” he asks, because contrary to popular belief he does have manners.

“I got a sunburn,” Raphael says, and now he mentions it, his nose does look a little red. “And I twisted my ankle running for the subway.”

“Ouch,” Simon says, sympathetically. He remembers those days well, but it’s not like he’s been a vampire all that long. “Did you try aloe?”

“Thanks for the tip,” Raphael says dryly.

A group of rowdy college kids sing their way under the open window, headed home after closing time, and Simon glances at the time on his phone.

Three a.m.

“Hey, why are you awake anyway?” he asks.

“Maybe I knew some idiot was going to break in through my window,” Raphael says, but the bite’s not in it. Now that he thinks about it, Raphael’s been awake every time he’s come by, day or night.

“No, really,” he says, and waits out an honest answer.

Raphael groans. “ _Insomnia_ ,” he says. “I’m not used to being asleep when it’s dark out, so apparently I’m just awake all the time now.”

“Can you sleep during the day?” Simon asks.

“Some. Not much.”

Simon gets it. When he first became a Daylighter he’d gone overboard making the most of it, spending as much time in the sun as possible. Later he’d realized he wasn’t just pushing himself, he was genuinely weak; so much to do, so little time to remember to rest. And he’s, _you know_ , still a vampire.

“Need me to go stock up on NyQuil?” he asks, only mostly joking.

“No,” Raphael says, “but if you want to knock me unconscious, I won’t kill you.”

“ _Wow_ ,” Simon says, “you really _are_ desperate.”

“I’m reading _Moby-Dick_ , what do you think?”

Simon doesn’t really know what to say; he can count on one hand the number of times Raphael’s exposed this level of vulnerability in front of him, and he’s also fully acquainted with the lack of filter sleep deprivation can cause. There’s a huge part of him that wants to make another joke, keep them coming until Raphael tries to physically throw him back out over the balcony.

But he’s also not a total dick, so.

“Want me to read to you?” he says, and pre-empts Raphael’s startled response. “Just…all these lights aren’t helping. We could turn most of them off, you can take the couch, and I’ll just…read.”

It sounds kind of pathetic, but only because he’s waiting for Raphael to tell him ‘no’ in unequivocal terms. Simon’s mom used to do the same thing for him when he was a kid and too worked up from nightmares to stay in his own bed.

“Look,” he says, before Raphael can shut down. “I know it’s kind of weird, but you need sleep, and I promise not to mention it to anyone, ever.”

Simon watches the expressions on Raphael’s face war with each other, before his shoulders collapse in defeat. “…Fine.”

He picks up his blanket and they trade seats. It takes Simon longer then he intends to turn off all the lights because apparently Raphael robbed a department store or something and _no one_ should own this many table lamps. By the time he picks up the tatty copy of _Moby-Dick_ , Raphael’s staring at the ceiling, cushion under his head and blanket tucked as close under his chin as he can manage without looking like a three-year-old. Simon’s chest feels inexplicably tight and he has to clear his throat before he can pick up at the start of the next chapter.

In the end, he doesn’t know if it’s his (truly Stephen Fry worthy) reading or just someone else’s presence, but it takes less that half an hour before Raphael’s breathing evens out, body curling tighter in on itself. Simon keeps going for another chapter until he’s sure Raphael’s down for the night, and then goes to raid the bookshelf for something more tolerable.

Or, like, at least written this century.

There’s a James Patterson novel buried behind a first edition collection of poetry, and Simon can’t wait to drag Raphael about it. For now, he just kicks off his shoes and curls back up in Raphael’s armchair.

It’s not like he has anything better to do.

 

 

**~**

 

 

Simon spends a week helping Jace track down a mystery demon camped out in New Jersey, complete with rival Shadowhunter jurisdictions and a truly shitty freeway motel. They _do_ manage to avoid the traditional bed-sharing trope at the last minute, thank God, because Jace is a child who throws a tantrum until the manager cancels some poor guy’s reservation; to be fair, when the guy _does_ show up, it’s with a tan line around his missing wedding band and a poor blonde half his age who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else anyway, so Simon doesn’t feel too bad.

Jace is still taking baby steps towards empathy, but even _he_ looks mildly relieved to find out the guy’s a douche. Simon’s almost proud of him.

They get back late Friday afternoon. Izzy’s visiting the newlyweds in Idris, and Jace is trying to only stalk Clary a couple times a month, so they end up enjoying the weather at a terrace bar Downtown. Simon shoots off a group text to the few people that classify as his social circle, and Jace rolls his eyes and orders them a pitcher.

Maia sends her apologies and also a selfie with a line of shots and three equally beautiful people he’s never met, but Simon’s not surprised when Jagger rolls up the minute the sun goes down. Jace raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything as Simon makes the introductions, and then it’s, like, thirty seconds before they get into a conversation about niche ‘90s underground music that even Simon can’t keep up with, and he immediately regrets ever letting them meet.

He sighs and goes to order the next round, and then wonders what the point of vampire senses are when he startles at a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Raphael says.

“Hey,” Simon says, “you made it! What can I get you?”

Raphael raises an eyebrow, and Simon grins, correcting himself.

“What can _Jace_ get you. It’s his tab.”

“Well,” Raphael says, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “In that case, I’ll take a Boulevardier.”

“I don’t even know what that is,” Simon says and orders it anyway.

Raphael waits to help carry the drinks back to the table even though they both know Simon can manage, and Jace nods in greeting even as he waves his hand around in some kind of explanation. Jagger has more manners, or maybe he’s just curious, because he turns and holds out a hand.

“Hey, man. I’m Jagger.”

“Raphael.”

Simon can feel the tension in his shoulders but if he’s expecting anything in particular, he doesn’t get it. Jagger just asks some friendly questions and tries to drag him into his and Jace’s conversation.

“They’ve been at this for thirty minutes,” Simon explains. “I’m wondering if I should be recording it for future blackmail.”

“ _Please_ ,” Jace says, “I even make ‘nerd’ cool.”

“It’s cute that you think that,” Simon tells him. “Really.”

The bar gets busier as the night goes on, but they manage to keep their table. A few rounds later and Jace is proving what an outstanding lightweight he is by telling Jagger the ins and outs of the great Clary and Jace Love Story, incest scare included, and Simon’s debating whether being a good friend and stopping him or laughing until he cries is a better use of his time.

“Seventy years I managed to avoid living in a telenovela,” Raphael says, “and then _you_ happened.”

“You’re welcome,” Simon says earnestly, and reaches for the table nuts to see how many he can get in Jace’s beer before he notices.

“I meant to say,” Raphael says, sounding like he’s forcing the words from his lips, cheeks flushed and eyes a little glassy because apparently he’s verging on drunk too, and Simon somehow managed to miss it, “thank you. For the other night.”

He’s not meeting Simon’s eyes, and Simon feels the tips of his own ears begin to heat up, dead or not. “No problem,” he says, and taps his fingers against his glass. “Uh, it helped?”

Raphael nods.

“Cool,” Simon says, except he drags the vowels out and ends up sounding like an Andy Samburg impersonation.

Raphael’s lips twitch but, miraculously, he doesn’t call him out on it.

“Another round?” Simon says, and almost trips over his own feet on the way to the bar.

Vampire of the fucking year, that’s him.

 

 

**~**

 

 

Izzy takes a few days off, and they mostly spend it on Simon’s couch, making the most of the privacy. Izzy orders take-out because Simon’s fridge is, literally, a bloodbath, and they argue over the Netflix queue and which teen supernatural show is the worst.

It’s easy and fun and relaxed, and when Izzy wakes up early to get back to work she presses an apologetic kiss to the side of his mouth and zips up her pencil skirt.

The apartment feels empty when she’s gone.

Simon’s never thought of himself as needy. Yeah, he definitely had his moments with Clary, but he puts a lot of that down to, you know, the whole demons and destruction and finding out his best friend was a superhero thing. Extenuating circumstances. Also, dying. But otherwise?

Maybe it’s just the fact that he can count the amount of time they’ve spent together lately on his fingers. He doesn’t begrudge Izzy her achievements _at all_ ; she’s one of the smartest, bravest, strongest people he’s ever known, and she deserves every ounce of success that comes her way. 

Honestly, he’s pretty sure he’s just projecting.

“Am I clingy?” he asks Raphael later, lying on the floor and wondering if his ceiling just needs repainting or if he should be worried about mould. He can hear the tell-tale signs of a game show through the line, and the thought of Raphael watching TV is jarring.

“ _I’ve_ never been able to get rid of you for long,” Raphael says.

“Wow,” Simon says. “Thanks buddy.”

“Is this a relationship talk?” Raphael asks, and Simon can practically picture the look of resigned horror on his face.

“Maybe?”

“God,” Raphael says, “and here I thought you’d moved past the high school drama. If it’s another love triangle, we’re no longer friends.”

“It’s nice to know you have such a high opinion of me,” Simon tells him solemnly. “And also, fuck you.”

Raphael snorts. “You’re not clingy,” he says. “You cling to _ideals_ , sure. Otherwise, you’re a doormat.”

“Ouch,” Simon says, wincing. “Now I think I might actually be hurt.”

“Suck it up,” Raphael says unironically.

Simon gets what he’s saying, though, and it may not be entirely true but he can see why Raphael thinks it.

Every one of Simon’s relationships past and present have always started with friendship. It’s just how he’s built; that slow, easy slide of realizing you know almost everything about someone and still want to know more, the knowledge that there’s no one else you’d rather spend time with and what that means. Sure, he can flirt with the best of them — or, okay, he can occasionally not make a _total_ fool out of himself — but when it comes to relationships he has a pattern.

The thing is, though, that working out the dynamics of dating someone who you already love in a different and no less important way can get…muddled. And a little all-consuming. 

So, not ‘doormat’, just— overwhelmed, maybe. 

Messy, definitely.

“I think I might be a bad boyfriend,” Simon says a little miserably, tracing the line of possibly-mould through the air with his finger.

“Oh my God,” Raphael says, and hangs up on him.

 

 

**~**

 

 

Simon gives it a day and then gets bored.

He considers buying cheap bourbon as an apology, but he passes a florist on the way to the liquor store and can’t resist the over-the-top purple and white arrangement in the window, mostly because it’s one of the uglier things he’s ever seen and Raphael’s face will be priceless.

There are _carnations_.

“Why are you knocking?” Raphael asks when he opens the door because they’re both used to Simon just letting himself in like an asshole, and then does a horrified double take.

Simon manages to keep a straight face just long enough to say, “Because I’m sorry,” and then loses it.

“I can’t believe you spent money on this,” Raphael says, taking the bouquet with sceptical fingers and depositing it in the kitchen sink.

“I couldn’t resist,” Simon says. “But, yeah, no, I really need to get a job.”

He helps himself to a chilled bottle of blood from the fridge and wanders over to the window, watching the city bustling below. When Raphael doesn’t join him after a few minutes, he turns to find him cutting the stems of the flowers and arranging them in a vase Simon’s pretty sure used to hold decorative stones or some shit.

“Um,” he says, because he hadn’t _actually_ intended this. Raphael ignores him. “Okay.”

“My mom loved flowers,” Raphael explains, even though Simon would never ask. “Sometimes people from the neighborhood would bring them from their gardens on Sundays and she’d make us help her arrange them.”

Simon coughs around the tightness in his throat.

“Cool,” he says, and then winces. “My dad used to bring my mom flowers, I think. Pink ones. Roses, maybe?”

Raphael hums, and places the last baby’s breath where he wants it before sliding the vase into the center of the kitchen counter.

It doesn’t look so ugly anymore.

Simon goes back to staring out the window and is really glad Raphael can’t hear his heartbeat these days.

 

 

**~**

 

 

“You have to cancel,” Simon says, before Izzy can. Her hair’s coming loose from her ponytail and there’s a tear in the seam of her jacket. She doesn’t look tired so much as restless with energy, and Simon’s seen her this way a thousand times and still doesn’t know how to handle not jumping right into the fray alongside her.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and then squeezes her eyes shut because they both sound like a broken record. “No,” she corrects, “actually, if I’m honest, I’m not. I _am_ sorry we haven’t seen each other in ages, but I’m not sorry that I have things to take care of.”

“I know,” Simon says, because he’d never ask her to be. He can be disappointed and still get it. 

He _is_ disappointed though.

“That’s what it means when your girlfriend’s such a badass, I guess,” he says, and Izzy shakes her head.

“That’s what it means when you’re dating a Shadowhunter,” she tells him, and he gets what she’s saying. Clary hadn’t been any different, they’d just had a longer history. Even Jace is hard to pin down, and they’re still staggering somewhere between the pseudo-enemies to besties category.

“Yeah,” he says, and doesn’t push it. Izzy looks troubled, though, and Simon begins to feel uneasy.

“I’m not used to…this,” Izzy says, waving a hand between them. He thinks she means _them_ for a moment, before she clarifies. “The previous guys I’ve dated have all had a lot going on too.”

Simon feels a little like he’s been punched.

“Uh,” he says, because words aren’t really a thing he can think of right now.

“That came out wrong,” Izzy says, reading his expression. “I just meant. Well. Meliorn, and Raphael…not that that one’s a good example, but…”

Simon _really_ can’t handle her talking about Raphael right now.

“No,” he says. “Totally. I get it. But, I mean. You and Meliorn dated for ages, right? And you guys hardly saw each other.”

Izzy sighs and sets her files aside, clearly searching for the right words.

“Meliorn and I definitely had a long relationship,” she says, “but I wouldn’t call it dating.”

“Right,” Simon says, and gets the impression he knows where this is going.

“We both had our own lives, and enjoyed the time we spent together when we could. I had my work, and Meliorn had his duties,” Izzy says, and he knows it’s not what she’s saying, but all he hears is _‘you’re alone.’_

Izzy and Meliorn’s relationship _had_ been different. Two people born of the same world, aware of its dangers and magic, and sewing together something in the moments between.

Simon’s been trying to have a ‘normal' relationship, the type people he knew in high school post about on Facebook and the Lifetime channel makes a fortune on, and maybe that’s the problem. They’re _not_ normal, and he doesn’t know why he thought getting out of immediate trouble would change that.

He’s been after date nights and in-jokes and lazy, spontaneous days, and Izzy…hasn’t been.

“Are we breaking up?” he asks before he can stop himself, and Izzy’s expressions skips from concerned to surprised and into resignation.

“I really, really like you, Simon,” she says, and he knows that but he hears everything else she’s saying, too. “But, yes, I think so. You’re looking for something I can’t give you right now, and I hate feeling guilty about it.”

And, yeah.

The horrible, all-consuming truth of it is that she’s _right_.

“I really, really like you, too,” he says, and presses a last kiss against her cheek. “If you need anything, you’ve got my number.”

“See you soon?” she asks, and he knows she means as friends, and that’s important, too, to both of them, so he just nods.

“Good lucking kicking ass,” Simon says, and likes to think her laugh sounds at least as sad as he feels.

 

 

**~**

 

 

Given his and Izzy’s conversation, Simon _really_ can’t handle seeing Raphael right now.

It’s been so easy to compartmentalize his life into _before_ and _during_ the mortal instrument drama, that now he’s in the brand new _after_ phase, he’s not sure where everything fits. He’d _thought_ he had it worked out; he and Jace were friends, and he and Izzy were dating, and Clary was gone but safe, and Magnus and Alec were off husbanding, and Maia was getting cooler by the day, and Raphael was…

Well. 

That’s where he gets stuck. Because Raphael _wasn’t_ , before. Or, he _was_ , but only when Simon needed something. Or when Clary needed something. Or when Izzy needed something.  


Raphael took, too, Simon knows that, and he won’t excuse it, but he also won’t pretend he’s ever had enough of the facts to paint a clear picture.

Raphael was there for the _during_ and he’s here for the _after_ , but Simon still can’t work out how those two puzzle pieces fit together.

Maybe they don’t.

Part of Simon needs to be able to work it out, but the truthful, honest part he’s still coaxing back to life says that maybe there isn’t an answer, and maybe that’s okay.

Raphael _was_ , and Raphael _is_ , and those two things don’t have to be the same.

He’s so caught in his own head that he’s staring up at Raphael’s balcony before he even notices where his feet have carried him.

“Well, shit.”

“Someone’s going to call the cops on you one of these days,” Raphael says, and Simon almost jumps out of his skin.

Raphael’s balancing a paper bag of groceries in his arms as he tries to get to his keys, and Simon reaches out before apples end up rolling down the street. Raphael doesn’t comment, just accepts it with a quirk of his eyebrow and lets them in.

“Were you loitering for a reason?” he asks, nodding at the counter when Simon raises the grocery bag.

“Uh, not particularly,” Simon says, putting the milk away and digging around for other fridge things. “Well. I mean. I didn’t _mean_ to come here at all, really.”

Raphael leans in the doorway with his arms crossed, and Simon sighs.

“Isabelle and I broke up,” he says, because fuck it.

He may not have _meant_ to come here, but he did because he can’t even bullshit himself.

Raphael’s shoulders pull back a little, and Simon wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t looking for it.

“Are you okay?” Raphael asks, and Simon blinks and realizes he was waiting for a (vaguely insincere) platitude instead of a question.

“Oh,” he says. “Um. Yeah. I mean, it sucks, but…” He stares at the box of oats in his hand and thinks about it. “I think I’m fine?”

Raphael watches him for another long moment.

“Good,” he says, and then takes over the unpacking. Simon steps back to let him and wonders at the truth of it. He really _does_ feel fine. It had taken him aback, obviously, and it’s never _fun_ to be dumped, but…

Honestly, Izzy’s unintentional suggestion that he’s alone was more painful than the break up. Which is probably telling.

“There’s bloodsicles in the freezer,” Raphael says, hooking a bunch of bananas on an honest-to-God banana tree. “Also, I hate that you have me calling them that.”

“You love it,” he says, and really means that _he_ loves it. His mission to subconsciously influence Raphael’s vocabulary is clearly a raving success. 

“What are you smiling about?” Raphael asks suspiciously, and Simon shakes his head, grabbing a bloodsicle.

“Nothing,” he says. “I’m heartbroken, remember?”

Raphael snorts.

“If you were heartbroken you would have reached for the vodka,” he says, nodding at the open freezer door, and, well.

Simon can’t argue with that.

 

 

**~**

 

 

It’s pure luck they’re nearby.

Jace had talked Simon into helping with a case that hadn’t ended up being a case so much as a werewolf couple having a messy break up and make up in a semi-crowded place. A couple of pointed comments about New York public decency laws and everyone had been on their way. 

Simon and Jace had gone for a drink to try and wipe the images from their mind, and had just headed out when Simon heard the drag of painful breathing from an alley two blocks away.

(Later, he’ll wonder how. It had been a crowded street, and hardly anyone was sober. At least two people had bad smokers coughs. 

He had, though, and maybe he should give more due to Fate these days.)

There’s a young woman lying on her side — a vampire — and her skin’s too pale even by their standards. Her hands are clutched to her chest, and there’s no stake but it’s obvious something’s seriously wrong. 

Jace appears as Simon’s investigating, and the sounds of the city break back through.

“We need to get her someplace safe,” Jace says, sliding into competence, “before someone calls an ambulance.”

“Raphael’s place,” Simon says. “It’s not far.”

Jace nods and memorizes the address, promising to call for help and meet him there.

Simon puts on vamp speed until he’s at Raphael’s door. The woman’s chest sounds wrong, blood bubbling where it shouldn’t be, and the long seconds it takes Raphael to answer feel like eternity.

“What…?” Raphael starts but stands up straight almost immediately, catching on. He points to the bedroom and goes in search of supplies whilst Simon tries to be as gentle as possible.

“You’re okay,” he tells the woman, even though she’s obviously not. He’s seen enough TV to know you shouldn’t make promises to people in this situation, but he can’t help it. Her dark hair’s plastered to her head and her eyes aren’t focusing on anything. “It’ll be okay.”

“Here,” Raphael says, tossing Simon a blood bag and placing three more within reach. Simon slices a nail through the plastic and presses it against the woman’s mouth. It takes her a moment but then she starts drinking down greedily, only slowing down when her body starts to convulse. 

The sound of a portal opening in the next room barely draws their attention, but then Magnus is there, nudging Simon gently aside and running his hands through the air around the woman’s heart.

“There’s a splinter against her heart,” he says. “Raphael?”

“Got it,” Raphael says, and starts digging through Magnus’ bag. Simon wonders how many times they’ve done this.

There’s a knock on the door, and Simon goes to answer, leaving Magnus to work. Jace is out of breath but seems relieved when he sees the magical residue.

“I’m gonna owe Alec so bad,” he says. “Pretty sure it’s date night.”

Half an hour later, Magnus and Raphael reappear. There’s barely a sheen to Magnus’ temple, no sign of the power he’s just used. Raphael, on the other hand, looks exhausted.

“She’ll be alright,” Magnus says, rolling down his sleeves. “Keep her fed and rested and she’ll be back to strength in a day or two.”

“Thanks,” Simon says, and Magnus pats his cheek.

“I need to get back,” he says with a wink. “Don’t want to miss dessert.”

He portals out as quickly as he’d arrived, and Simon goes to retrieve the vodka from the freezer.

“God, yes,” Jace says, clutching a hand in his direction. 

Raphael sighs and almost trips as he reaches his chair. Simon’s there before he falls, one arm around his waist as Raphael presses against his chest to steady himself; it’s only then Simon notices the needle mark in the back of his hand.

“How much blood did you _give?_ ” Simon asks, raising it to his mouth before he even thinks about it. It’s only the sudden tension as he presses his mouth to the tiny wound that makes him realize he’s doing anything weird, and he pulls back quickly. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Raphael says, words a little slurred. “I just didn’t know you knew about your saliva’s healing properties.”

Probably because Simon _hadn’t_. He’d just been working on autopilot.

Jace coughs a little too dramatically. Honestly, Simon had forgotten he was there.

“You okay?” he asks Raphael, and Raphael nods.

“Just haven’t eaten since this morning.”

“I’ll grab you something. Here, sit.”

He sets about putting together a sandwich, and Jace sighs and takes over drink duties.

“Any clue who she is?” Jace asks, rummaging around for ice, and Raphael shakes his head.

“She wasn’t talking.”

It’s only because Simon’s subconsciously had his hearing attuned to the next room that he hears the whispered, “Maggie.”

“Maggie,” he says aloud, and Raphael and Jace both stare at him for a long moment before catching on.

They don’t want to overcrowd her, so they open the door and Jace stays in the sitting room whilst Simon sits near the bed and Raphael hovers by the window. She’s still weak, but she’s obviously a fighter and she’s happy to tell her story.

She’s from Maryland, and a couple of months ago her sire had been killed by a rogue hunter. Her clan wasn’t big or stable enough to survive on its own, and she’d come to New York to see about a new start, but the infighting for leadership amongst the clans had put her off almost as soon as she’d arrived and she’d left before really speaking to anyone. Unfortunately, she’d run into a gang of rowdy bastards who’d managed to throw her against an alley wall before she’d thought they might even be anything resembling a threat.

Even more unfortunately, the alley had been full of a lot of wooden crates.

It really hadn’t been her night.

Raphael’s brow furrows at the news of the New York clan’s infighting, but Simon knows he wasn’t really expecting anything less. It was happening even before Raphael became human again, and Simon’s sure it’s even worse now.

“I’d be dust if you hadn’t found me,” Maggie says, tugging at the corner of Raphael’s blankets, and Simon’s pretty sure she means ‘thank you’. 

“You can stay here until you’re feeling stronger,” he says, and Raphael shoots him an incredulous look. “Uh, or with me. Or Jace. Actually, no, not Jace. You don’t want to stay there, trust me. But—”

“God,” Raphael says, “stop talking.” He turns back to Maggie. “Of course you can stay here.”

Maggie frowns. “Aren’t you a mundane?”

It’s not judgemental, just mildly confused.

“Currently,” Raphael says, and leaves it at that.

“She’s lucky,” Jace says, and he’s keeping his voice down but without a silencing rune they all know Maggie can hear it.

“Yeah,” Simon says, and doesn’t think about how he was able to hear a single shuddering breath against a New York City crowd.

 

 

**~**

 

 

Maggie gets better just in time for Raphael to come down with a cold.

The first time he sneezes he stands completely still and stares into the air like he doesn’t know what’s happening. 

It’s _adorable_ , and Simon would say as much but he knows how many breakables there are around and he’d like not to have glass embedded in his skull.

Raphael sneezes again and a look of pure, unadulterated horror crosses his face.

“Uh oh. Who knows how to make chicken soup?” Maggie asks from where she’s propped on the couch against a pile of throw pillows that seem to have appeared as if by magic. So either Magnus has stopped by or Raphael has an even bigger Target problem than Simon thought.

“I’m Jewish,” Simon says, “of course I do.”

Raphael scowls, and goes to say something but has to reach for a tissue instead. From the corner of his eye, Simon can see Maggie biting back a smile.

“I’ll call Jagger,” Simon says and leaves the room before Raphael can protest.

Forty minutes later, Jagger shows up with way too many groceries and, for some reason, a giant orange blanket that looks unbearably soft.

“You said he was sick,” Jagger says when Simon asks. “I dunno, I thought maybe he wouldn’t have a blanket and then he wouldn’t be warm enough or whatever. Mundanes are pretty fragile, dude.”

Simon’s incredibly touched on Raphael’s behalf. Raphael just looks at the blanket like it might devour him.

Despite Raphael’s scepticism, Simon hadn’t been lying about being able to make chicken soup. _Sure_ , it’s one of the few things he _can_ make — at least without a microwave involved — but his bubbe would be horrified if he managed to forget, immortality be damned.

“Here,” he says, carrying it through on a tray he’d dug out of one of the cupboards and carefully not spilling it everywhere when he spots Raphael actually curled up under Jagger’s hideous blanket. 

“One word and I throw that in your face,” Raphael says, and Simon has no trouble believing him.

Jagger’s still there, sat on the floor with his back against the couch where Maggie’s still perched, showing her something on his phone.

It’s all very domestic.

“Movie anyone?” Simon asks, because he’s not actually used to having a captive audience and because if he doesn’t distract himself he’ll probably start checking Raphael’s temperature.

“Oh God,” Raphael mutters even as Maggie and Jagger sit up in interest.

“Eat your soup,” Simon says and reaches for the remote.

 

 

**~**

 

 

The weirdest part is that Raphael lets them stay.

Sure, Jagger disappears around dawn to wherever it is he’s crashing, and Simon _technically_ has his own place, but mostly they just hang out in Raphael’s sitting room, making sure he’s drinking enough fluids and watching increasingly trashy movies.

He’s waiting for Raphael to snap, or at least for his snarky mask to slide back into place, but it doesn’t happen. If anything he seems…relieved, maybe? Simon can’t figure it out, but he’ll take it because Raphael’s water pressure is about three hundred times better than his, and because, well.

It’s nice, being around people.

“Your face is doing that thing again,” Raphael says, frowning as he passes Simon a blood bag, and Simon shakes it off.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Simon lies and then smiles widely until Raphael rolls his eyes and looks away.

“How’s the job hunt going?” Maggie asks, taking her own blood bag with a grateful nod.

“Ugh,” Simon says, which pretty much sums it up. He’s not sure how centuries of vampires have done it; even as a daylighter, the average job is totally out of the question, and there aren’t anything close to enough downworlder gigs out there.

“That bad, huh?” Maggie says, sympathetically. Of the vamps in his acquaintance she’s the closest to him in age, Turned in the early noughties at the back of a show by a drummer. (“From the _support band_ ,” she’d said with a scoff. “Not even the headliners!”) Like Simon, she doesn’t have a mythical stock portfolio or healthy savings account. Unlike Simon, her clan leader _had_ had those things, and left her a good chunk of it in whatever qualifies as a post-death will.

“Soon I’m not going to be able to make rent,” Simon says, mournfully. “I’m pretty sure that was left out of the advertizing brochure.”

Raphael snorts. “That’s because most vampires join a clan who have property and communal funds and look out for each other.” He shoots Simon a pointed look. “ _Most_ vampires.”

Simon waves a hand. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. The Hotel DuMort exists and I’m an idiot.”

Raphael sighs nostalgically. “I would have been such a good leader if—”

“If it weren’t for us meddling kids,” Simon says. “I know.”

Raphael glares at him. 

“You were clan leader?” Maggie asks, sounding surprised, and Simon’s reminded at how quickly the world’s moved on.

“It was a hell of a coup,” he tells her. “I was the prime bargaining chip.”

“You were a pain in my ass,” Raphael says, and, well. Fair.

Honestly, it feels like a different universe. All those gilded mirrors and obnoxious luxury against the hidden shadows of general life; Raphael’s sharp suits and sharper smile.

Simon thinks, for a moment, that he _misses_ it.

And then Raphael puts on a new record, expensive dark jeans and cashmere sweater off-set by his socked feet and the redness that’s still coloring the edges of his nose, and Simon thinks, ‘ _Maybe not_.’

“Remember that time you leant me a suit for Alec’s first wedding?” Simon says. It’s still a soft memory, hazy in the way things were allowed to be in the beginning, just for a while. He remembers Izzy’s face when she’d walked in, long before they’d even considered becoming _something_. Remembers the thrill in his bones when Raphael had made the offer in the first place.

“You spilt thousand island dressing on the lapel,” Raphael says, still looking at the record sleeve. 

“Okay,” Simon says, “I apologized for that, like, a million times.”

And then he’d stopped apologizing to Raphael at all.

God.

Maggie’s watching him with a curious expression, and Simon tries to school his features into something less nostalgic.

Raphael goes back to his seat, folding one leg over the other and reaching for his coffee mug, fingers tapping minutely along to the music. Simon wonders how he views the past; if it’s all rose-colored glasses or regretful shadow; if he’s old enough to see things exactly as they were and hold them there. 

“You guys go back a ways, huh?” Maggie asks, and it sounds innocent and interested, but Simon’s learning to read her better than that.

“Not really,” he says. “Like, the blink of an eye in vamp years.”

“He’s trying to say I’m old,” Raphael says, and Simon shoots him a finger gun. “Which I’m not.”

“If you go by Magnus years,” Simon scoffs. Which, actually, Raphael probably does.

“Are you Simon’s sire?” Maggie asks Raphael, and Raphael chokes on his coffee.

“God, no,” he says. “I’m offended you’d even _think_ that.”

“Wow,” Simon says. “Ouch.”

“What’s wrong with Simon?” Maggie asks, amused.

“How long have you got?”

“Okay,” Simon says, sitting up with a pout, “I’m _awesome_. I’ve helped saved the world, like, a bunch of times.”

Raphael and Maggie share a look because they’re both terrible.

“I heard the Shadowhunters were back on their bullshit,” Maggie says, and Raphael’s cough sounds suspiciously like a laugh.

“…It was a bit more complicated than that,” Simon says, weakly, because it _was_ , but.

“No, that sums it up,” Raphael says, and Simon sighs and lets it go.

It’s not like he can really defend it. Or, he _could_ , but at a base level — the sort of footnotes in history books and Richard Attenborough documentaries — it really was a case of Shadowhunter v. Shadowhunter. Everyone else had just been collateral damage.

( _He’d_ just been collateral damage.)

It’s not really an easy sell.

Still, Maggie’s watching him curiously, and Raphael doesn’t seem to mind the turn in conversation as much as he probably should, and Simon’s old therapist was a keen observer in never being afraid to talk about the past.

“Okay, so—” he begins, and Maggie leans forward, settling in for the ride.

Raphael just sighs and goes to grab some whisky for his coffee because he’s a dramatic bastard.

Simon takes a deep, unnecessary breath, because he’s kind of a dramatic bastard, too.

“Once upon a time…”

 

 

**~**

 

 

Simon’s shopping with Raphael when he gets the call.

(Or, Raphael’s shopping. Simon’s sitting on uncomfortable luxury couches drinking free coffee and using the same handful of platitudes for every outfit Raphael tries on.

Raphael ignores him anyway, and Simon’s not sure exactly what he’s being punished for but, hey, free coffee.)

“Hi Izzy,” he says, shooting Raphael a thumbs up even as Raphael rolls his eyes, discarding the navy leather jacket. Simon actually thought it looked pretty cool, but that’s probably the problem. 

“Simon,” Isabelle starts, and he immediately straightens at her tone.

“What’s wrong?”

She’s silent for a long moment, like she’s trying to choose her words carefully, and he thinks _Clary_ and _Luke_ and, hell, _Jace_ , before she says, “There was an attack on Staten Island.”

“Demons?” he asks, willing her to hurry up and put him out of his misery. Raphael’s turned to watch him, brow furrowed, and Simon shoots him a desperate glance.

“No,” Izzy says. “Vampires.”

“Who?” Simon asks, confused. His vampiric social circle consists of Jagger and Maggie these days, and they were still dropping messages in the group chat with suggestion for how to wind Raphael up and whether leggings count as pants as of five minutes ago.

“A rogue criminal. He’d been working his way up from Florida along the east coast. We took care of him, but, Simon…” She sounds like she’s been crying, and his chest feels tight. “There was a boy. A kid.”

It takes Simon a long moment to realize what she’s saying, and then there’s nothing but nausea climbing the walls of his throat.

“He was Turned?” he asks, because he needs to be sure, needs to know what he’s walking in to.

“Yes,” Izzy says, barely a whisper, and he can’t begin to imagine what she’d walked into, the shock of it.

“I’m on my way,” he says and hangs up, reaching for his coat.

“What happened?” Raphael asks, and Simon had forgotten that he couldn’t hear, that he doesn’t know.

Simon swallows against the bile in his throat.

“I’ll tell you on the way.”

 

 

**~**

 

 

If Simon’s furious, Raphael’s _livid_.

“Raphael,” Izzy says, steps faltering by half a beat. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

She’s obviously tried putting herself back together, but there’s still an angry graze across her upper arm and shadows under her eyes, exhaustion and grief a much harder thing to shake.

Raphael just nods, eyes darting around the room, incapable of small talk right now. His shoulders are pulled back and his game face on, but Simon can still read the parts of him that are ready to tear the world apart at the seams.

“Where—?” Simon starts, and Izzy opens an arm, leading the way.

Simon tries to psych himself up, but in the end there’s nothing that could have prepared him.

A terrible, broken noise escapes Raphael’s throat, and Simon reaches out to wrap his fingers around Raphael’s wrist. 

The boy — and he is a boy, eleven at the oldest — is curled up against the wall, knees pulled to his chest and clothes dirtied and torn. He looks up at Raphael’s distress, and his pupils are shot, nails digging into the skin of his arms. There’s a mug on the floor next to him that’s been drained of blood, and everything about him sings of confusion and fear.

Simon can almost _feel_ his blood boiling in his veins.

“I can’t go in there,” Raphael says, and Simon squeezes his wrist. Raphael clenches his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut on a deep breath and looks up at him. “No, I _can’t_ go in there. You have to.”

Because he’s a mundane, and the boy is scared and lost and hungry.

_Fuck._

Simon straightens his shoulders, pushing the anger as far back as he can, and lets himself into the small, stone walled observation room.

The boy doesn’t move, but Simon can feel his eyes tracking his every move.

“Hi there,” he says, as gently as he can. It’s not hard; every part of him just wants to wrap the boy in his arms and never let go, keep him safe and warm and fed, and set fire to anything that dares hurt him again. 

It’s overwhelming and instinctive and he can’t focus on it now.

“I’m Simon,” he says. “What’s your name?”

The boy opens his mouth but it takes a couple of tries, and Simon can’t bear to think of his voice raw from screaming. Eventually he manages, “Aarav.”

“Aarav,” Simon repeats, kneeling on the floor just out of reach. “It’s nice to meet you. I bet you’re pretty confused, huh? I know I was. It’s a _lot_.”

Aarav bites his lower lip, and says, “The police people told me I’m a vampire now.”

Simon doesn’t need to turn his head to know both Raphael and Izzy are looking furious at that.

“The police people are called Shadowhunters,” Simon says, “and that wasn’t their job, but, yeah, they’re kinda like police.”

“But you’re like me,” Aarav says. “Like the bad man.”

“No,” Simon says, shaking his head and keeping his voice firm. “I’m like _you_ , yeah, but neither of us is like the bad man. Did they tell you he was gone now?”

Aarav nods, pulling his knees closer to his chest, and Simon can see the shake in his hands.

He’s never had to do this before, only has vague images of Raphael doing it for him, holding him close to stop him injuring himself in the early hours of the night, fangs a constant ache against his gums, and his senses too sharp, like a bad trip.

There are people more qualified; the New York clans will all have representatives for this. Hell knows a half-decent Warlock would be more prepared than Simon.

 _But_.

“I’m going to get you another drink,” Simon says, nodding at the empty mug, “and then we can just sit here for a while, okay?”

“Okay,” Aarav says.

Simon reminds his heart that it doesn’t have time to break. Not yet.

 

 

**~**

 

 

It’s four days before he leaves the Institute. 

He goes straight to Raphael’s place, and he’s sure there’s a whole tangle of things to unravel there, but right now he just wants a decent shower, a pint of O neg, and for Raphael to give him that look that says he’s stubborn enough to survive anything until it rubs off on Simon by osmosis.

“Hi,” Raphael says when Simon climbs over the balcony, the window already open. It doesn’t look like he’s had any more sleep than Simon has, but his eyes are alert.

Simon has so many things to say, to fill him in on and confess and unburden, but the minute his feet hit the sitting room floor it’s like his throat closes up and his shoulders threaten to cave in on themselves. 

There’s a long pause and then a glass of blood is being pressed into his hand and Raphael’s fingers are curling around his arm. Simon blames exhaustion for the way his head falls against Raphael’s shoulder, tucking into the curve of his neck, and _God_ , he smells so human. Simon can feel his pulse against his cheek.

Raphael hesitates for a beat and then hugs him back, and Simon takes it as permission to just stay there for as long as it takes his head to stop spinning.

Eventually he steps back, and Raphael goes to fetch him a fresh towel, not even complaining when Simon spends twice as long as necessary under the scolding spray.

Raphael’s sat on the end of the bed when he finally surfaces, dressed in a pair of slacks and an old t-shirt he’d left here the last time they’d had a movie marathon. He tries not to focus on the fact that they smell of Raphael’s laundry detergent. 

“Come on,” Raphael says, and there’s a tension in his jaw that suggests he won’t take no for an answer. “We both need some sleep. We can talk later.”

Simon doesn’t need persuading. He doesn’t even think about how weird it is to be crawling on top of Raphael’s sheets as Raphael does the same. It’s a large bed, and there’s practically a foot of space between them, but it still…well, like something Simon will have to overanalyze at a later date. Right now he can barely keep his eyes open, and he lets himself drift off the rhythmic beat of Raphael’s pulse.

When he wakes, the sun’s high in the sky and the sounds of the city slowly start to fade back into existence. Every part of Simon _aches_ in a way he hadn’t known he still could, and he feels significantly older than he did just a week ago. 

“Tell me,” Raphael says, already awake, hair ruffled and a pillow crease across his cheek. 

So Simon does.

It’s nothing Raphael doesn’t know, from the unfamiliar fang pain to the wracking cravings that threaten to break bones, especially ones halted in their growth too early. Aarav had coped with the physical better than Simon had thought, but the psychological was another issue. Magnus had popped by when he could, a favor to Izzy (and, Simon’s sure, a call from Raphael) and eased the transition as best he could, and eventually Aarav had fallen into a long, drained slumber, one Magnus assured Simon he wouldn’t come out of for at least a day. 

“What happens now?” Simon says, and Raphael sighs.

“That depends. What happened to his parents?”

Simon shakes his head. “Foster system. He doesn’t remember them.”

“Then it’s up to one of the clans to take him in,” Raphael says, though he doesn’t sound happy about it. “He’ll need a lot of help getting used to the change, and then there are the… _challenges_ …of him being so young.” 

Simon knows Raphael’s sour expression is mirrored in his own. 

“God,” Simon says, “the last thing we need is a tiny Kirsten Dunst situation.”

“You _know_ I want to stake you every time you make an Anne Rice reference,” Raphael says, “and yet you insist on doing it.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Simon informs him, and then the seriousness of everything crashes back down. “The clans are a mess right now.”

Raphael hums in agreement.

“You could take him in,” Raphael says after a long moment, watching Simon carefully, and Simon would freeze, would laugh it off or choke on the shock, except…

Except he’s been thinking it for three days, and hearing someone else say it finally lets it feel real.

“I’m not a clan leader,” Simon says, playing his own devil’s advocate, and Raphael snorts though there’s little humor in it.

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” he says, “the state of my Netflix queue and the amount of bloodsicles in my freezer suggest otherwise.”

“Maggie and Jagger aren’t part of _any_ clan,” Simon says, “let alone _mine_.” 

It’s true, he knows it is, except Raphael’s eyes are giving him that pitying look that seems deceptively soft considering Simon knows it really means ‘you’re an idiot’.

“Maggie came to New York specifically looking for a new clan. She’s used to being part of one, and she doesn’t know what to do now she’s alone. Jagger’s never been anything _but_ alone…”

“Because he’s a rove,” Simon interrupts, and Raphael shakes his head.

“You think that was his choice? It’s because no one’s ever wanted him. He’s never had somewhere to fit in. He’s been alone because he had to be, and then you turned around and asked him to stay.”

He says it like it’s fact.

“But why _me?_ ” Simon asks, and knows he sounds a little hysterical. “I just… _God_ , I just wanted a friend!”

And, yeah, that sounds just as pathetic aloud as he thought it would.

“I know,” Raphael says, and it must be killing him not to be sarcastic. “You were lonely.” He sighs, tucking the pillow further under his head. “What do you think a clan _is?_ ”

Which.

Yeah.

If Simon’s completely honest, he’s only ever thought about it in the political sense. Battles for leadership and carefully worded alliances. 

Simon’s problem, he thinks, is that he’s always seen things linearly. The clans are definitely all those things, but in hindsight he knows — he _remembers_ — that they’re also a community, people to live and eat and sit with. People who are going through the same things you are, immortality included. It feels like a lifetime ago that he’d let himself believe he was better than that, that he didn’t need other vampires because he had Clary and she was all he was ever going to need. 

Is that real irony or Alanis Morissette irony?

“I can’t do it by myself,” Simon says, because he knows his mind’s made up but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying.

Raphael stares him down like he’s obtuse or stupid or both. “Obviously,” he says.

 

 

**~**

 

 

“You can say no,” Simon says, because _duh_. He’s half expecting them to start laughing and walk out any minute.

Raphael had filled Maggie and Jagger (and, apparently, Jace who’d been busy on assignment but managed to send Simon a string of increasingly frantic texts until Simon sent back a gif of a dog falling asleep standing up and Jace replied with a long row of middle finger emojis) in on the basics about Aarav’s situation whilst Simon was at the Institute.

Judging by the mostly faded bruise on Maggie’s knuckles and the new picture on Raphael’s wall, Simon’s betting that conversation went about as well as to be expected.

This isn’t that though. Simon’s already talked to Izzy and Aarav about bringing Aarav back with him later tonight, and whilst Izzy had seemed unsure, making noises about proper procedure and clan protocol, Aarav had been shockingly relieved. Simon’s glad about it, but that’s _his_ decision (well, his and Raphael’s) and he’s not asking _that_ of Maggie and Jagger. 

This is about _them_ , not anyone else, and they should probably tell Simon where to stick it.

They’re silent for a while, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of Maggie’s lips, like maybe she’s been waiting for this conversation, and it puts Simon a little more at ease. Jagger on the other hand is staring at the floor, hands clasped in front of him.

“…Really?” he asks eventually, and it’s the quietest Simon’s ever heard him, because _of course_ Raphael was right.

“Really,” Simon says immediately, and Jagger nods, still not meeting anyone’s eye.

“Cool,” he says, and if he sounds choked up then Simon won’t mention it, just lets Maggie punch him on the shoulder and stays in his seat.

“What can we get for the kid?” Maggie asks, and Simon’s glad for the change in subject even as Raphael finally joins the conversation from his spot at the kitchen counter.

“He needs new clothes,” Raphael says, because of course that’s a priority for him. “I think he’s still wearing the clothes he entered the Institute in.”

“Honestly, I don’t think he has anything to his name,” Simon says, trying to keep a rational head on him. “So, pretty much everything.”

“We’re on it,” Jagger says, swiping the back of his hand over his eyes and finally standing, looking like a man on a mission. Maggie follows him to the door.

“Give us a shout when it’s safe to come by,” she says as they leave, and Raphael nods.

Simon just stays where he is for a while.

“You okay there, buddy?” Raphael asks, and when Simon looks at him he’s smirking.

“Oh fuck you,” Simon says, desperate laughter dancing on the edge of his tongue. “That was _terrifying_.”

Raphael rolls his eyes. “I told you, they were already here for it.”

Simon waves a hand at him. “Yeah, yeah, but you also once told me vampires could run through walls if they focused hard enough.”

“To be fair,” Raphael says, and his smirk is the widest Simon’s seen since those early Hotel days, “you were the one stupid enough to try it.”

Simon’s laugh is a little hysterical and a lot relieved.

 

 

**~**

 

 

Aarav fits in better than Simon could have hoped given everything.

Raphael spends a long time with him in quiet conversation that Simon actively tries not to eavesdrop on, and Maggie and Jagger show up with what’s probably the entirety of the nearest Target branch in their arms. Simon just hopes they used Raphael’s loyalty card.

Raphael’s apartment’s not big enough for the five of them, not even close, but they push furniture aside to make space for camp beds, and get used to tripping over stray belongings. It’s so domestic it hurts, and Simon has to take himself away sometimes just to rub at his chest and remember that he knows how to do this, that he thrives on being around people, and that loneliness can be temporary. 

He wonders what Clary would make of it, his little band of misfits and outsiders playing video games on Jagger’s old Nintendo 64 and working out the best way to make bloody milkshakes. 

He likes to think she’d love it.

Jace comes by when he’s back in town, the _Back to the Future_ remaster in hand and another dose of Magnus’ craving-reducing potion for Aarav. Much to Simon’s surprise and Raphael’s horror, Aarav takes to Jace almost immediately, the two of them ganging up on everyone else in Mario Kart and making whispered plans to slip hot chilli powder into Simon’s blood like they can’t all hear.

“Gotta say,” Jace says later, when the sun’s started to rise and Simon’s taken it on himself to do a grocery run for the human member of the household, “I didn’t see this coming.”

“Me either,” Simon says, honestly. “I’m still not sure it isn’t the worst idea in the history of the world.”

Jace laughs because he’s a dick and enjoys Simon’s pain.

“Seriously though,” he says, “I think it’s a good thing. Those guys were all looking for a family, and, I don’t know, I think maybe you were too.”

“When did you learn empathy?” Simon asks because it’s too insightful.

Jace grins and slaps him hard on the shoulder, using enough Shadowhunter strength that Simon stumbles.

“Probably about the time you realized you had a c-r-u-s-h on Raphael,” he says, and well.

Simon thinks he should earn a medal for not jumping into oncoming traffic.

 

 

**~**

 

 

“You need to register as an independent clan leader,” Raphael says over coffee a week later.

Aarav’s finally sleeping through the day, and they’re taking the opportunity to grab some fresh air and caffeine, leaving him with Jagger and Maggie who are both equally out for the count.

“Yikes,” Simon says. “Something tells me that’s a whole lot of paperwork.”

“Probably not,” Raphael says, yawning into his mug. “You’re both a daylighter _and_ overly friendly with the Shadowhunters. No other clan in their right mind will contest it. Besides, with only four members, you’re not a threat.”

“Five,” Simon says, adding sugar to his red eye.

“…Five,” Raphael says after a beat. “No one’s going to question it.”

“Cool,” Simon says. “I guess we also need to find a bigger place. I mean, you’ve been awesome letting everyone crash at yours, but my apartment’s even smaller, and we need to get Aarav, like, a tutor or something.”

“It’ll be best to register for homeschooling,” Raphael says. “Any capable warlock can help fudge the paperwork enough. But you’re right, we do need to think about his education.” He sighs, rubbing at his temples. “A bigger place would be a good idea, too.”

“The catch is money, obvs,” Simon says. “Do you think Magnus could magic us up a place?”

“Or you could just ask Jagger,” Raphael says, like it’s obvious. “I think he’s been eagerly waiting for it.”

“Uh…” Simon says, frowning. “Why would I ask Jagger?”

Raphael blinks at him.

“You _do_ know he’s loaded, right? He was the CEO of some computer company that invented…” He waves a disinterest hand. “I don’t know. Something ‘vital to modern gaming’ was how he put it. His estate still gets royalties.”

“…I didn’t know that, no,” Simon says, and realizes that a lot of small things make sense now. Like, for instance, Jagger happily spending money _all the time_. “I can’t just ask him to buy us all a place, though!”

“Of course you can,” Raphael says. “That’s what a clan _does_. It’s a sharing of resources.” He say the last part like it’s meant to have a ‘ _you idiot_ ’ tagged on the end but he’s trying to be polite.

Simon bites his lip. “I just…can’t.”

“Fine,” Raphael says, and grabs Simon phone before he can react. “Then I’ll do it.”

Simon could stop him, obviously. A tiny burst of vamp speed and the phone would be back in his pocket before Raphael could so much as type a single word. Except—

It’s totally pathetic, but Raphael casually invading his space feels _nice_.

He hates himself a bit.

“There,” Raphael says smugly, handing Simon back his phone. A minute later it starts buzzing madly.

“Uh,” Simon says, gawping at it. “Jagger just sent me, like, a dozen house listings. Holy shit, some of these are, like, _millions of dollars_. What the hell?!”

“Told you,” Raphael says, and Simon rolls his eyes.  


“I get it, you’re always right.”

“See?” Raphael says. “And people say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

“Okay,” Simon says, “how do I say ‘yes please but nothing with a pool or its own zip code’ without sounding ungrateful?”

“Ohh,” Raphael says, leaning forward, “I like the one with the roof garden.”

“You are absolutely no help,” Simon tells him. Raphael just smiles and goes to get another coffee.

 

 

**~**

 

 

It’s probably Simon’s fault for forgetting they’d made plans, but he’s going to blame Raphael for being stubborn, which is why, when Magnus and Alec show up, Simon and Raphael are debating the merits of Raphael agreeing to move in with the rest of them.

Loudly.

“What’s going on here?” Alec asks, clearly unsure if he should be speaking in his Official Voice or not, and possibly expecting fisticuffs and/or someone getting very drunk at dinner.

“Mom and Dad are fighting,” Maggie says in her smallest, saddest, fakest tone, and Simon sort of wishes someone had the foresight to film Alec’s face.

“Shotgun Mom,” he says, and Maggie snorts.

“No way. Raphael’s the responsible one. You’re the dad who’s idea of parenting is spending time together twice a year on a camping trip and always forgetting the kerosene.” She shrugs. “What? I had a mediocre childhood.”

“Is there a reason we’re being so hetero about this shit?” Jagger asks, legs flung over the arm of Raphael’s favorite chair. “Like, can’t Si still be the Fun Dad™ and Raph be the dad who manages to teach you how to drive without killing you no matter how many stop signs you run into and, like, stares down your Chem teacher when they try and have you expelled for accidentally blowing up the sophomore lab?”

“What’s happening?” Alec asks. Magnus pats him on the arm.

“I find it’s sometimes best not to ask.”

“And you thought _I_ was being specific,” Maggie says, throwing a cushion at Jagger who snags it easily from the air.

“Kids, please,” Simon says, because the vein above Raphael’s right temple has been throbbing for the last five minutes, and it’s _hilarious_.

“ _I_ didn’t do anything,” Aarav says, a little nervously but clearly wanting to be in on the joke. Simon’s chest does a tight, swoopy thing and he catches Raphael’s eye.

“That’s why you’re my favorite,” Raphael says, sounding put-out and soft all at once. Aarav ducks his head on a smile, and Simon doesn’t miss the glint of approval in Maggie and Jagger’s eyes.

“We won’t get a table if we don’t leave soon,” Magnus points out diplomatically, which really just means he’s entertained and wants to hear the full story. “Isabelle and Jace are meeting us there.”

“I’ll grab my coat,” Raphael says, shooting Simon a last glare for good measure.

“Don’t worry,” Simon says when he’s left the room. “Give me, like, an hour and he’ll cave.”

“Oh, we believe you,” Maggie says, making a whipping noise that leaves Simon very glad he can’t blush. 

“ _I_ want him to live with us,” Aarav says. “Shall I tell him?”

Simon sighs loudly. “Oh buddy, that would be _awesome_ , but I’m trying to only use low level emotional manipulation right now. Plan B, though, okay?”

“I heard that,” Raphael says, pointing a warning finger at Simon as he turns to Aarav. “Remember, do as I say, not as Simon does.”

Maggie wipes a fake tear from her eye. “Family time’s the _best_.”

“It looks like things are going well,” Magnus says cheerily when Alec’s glare finally ushers them out to the waiting Uber. 

“I’m just waiting to hear back about the official clan status,” Simon says, “and then I think Jagger has house viewings planned across the whole city.”

Raphael’s pressed against the window with Simon between him and Magnus, and Alec and his insanely long legs taking the front seat and looking confused when the driver tries to make conversation. It’s strange, being able to sense how nervous Raphael is; before he became a mundane, there’s no way Simon would have picked it up, but now he can’t quite hide the tension in his hands or the controlled way he’s breathing. 

Maybe it’s strange he invited Raphael to one of their ‘quick, we have an hour!’ drinks, but at this point it seemed weirder _not_ to.

He nudges his arm against Raphael’s as subtly as he can. After a second Raphael presses back.

Drinks go fine. A lot of politics and case talk, as well as a quick update from Jace on Clary’s wellbeing. Simon and Raphael fill Izzy in on how Aarav’s doing, and she’s relieved to hear he’s settling in. No one’s knocking back much booze, but they order a ton of bar food and manage to make it to the last slider before Alec has to make his excuses. 

It’s nice, but Simon doesn’t feel that ache in chest watching them all leave now.

“It’s early,” Raphael says, checking his watch. “Coffee?”

“Always,” Simon says, and they find the nearest Starbucks and get their drinks to go, wandering around Manhattan as the city determinedly tries to stay awake.

They make it as far as Bryant Park, and Raphael sits on the steps.

“Please move in with us,” Simon says, because it’s just them now and because it’s been the only thing he’s wanted to say all night.

Raphael sighs, wrapping his hands around his cup, collar turned up against the night chill. “I’m not a vampire,” he says, and Simon thinks he catches a hint of bitterness in it.

“No,” Simon says, because it’s just fact, “but you’re part of the clan. I...Come on, I can’t do this without you.”

It’s horribly honest, and Simon shuffles his feet even though it’s not the first time it’s been heavily implied. Raphael watches him closely and Simon folds his arms over his chest, almost spilling his coffee.

“I’ll move in if you make me a promise,” Raphael says after a while, and the gravitas in his voice is enough to make Simon drop down next to him.

“Okay,” he says, even though he knows better than to agree to deals before he knows the catch. It doesn’t matter.

“One day, I want you to Turn me.”

He says it so simply, like it’s not enough to shake the ground beneath Simon’s feet and leave him lost.

“But…” Simon says, and knows he sounds as clueless as he feels. “You _wanted_ to be a mundane.”

“I know,” Raphael says, and then groans, rubbing at his temple. “I did. I _really_ did. And then it happened and I _hate_ it. All those lamps you joke about? It’s because I can’t _see_. I’m so used to having perfect vision and now there’s just shadows everywhere. And I can’t hear anything! It’s like I’m underwater all the time. And, God, everything’s so _slow_. It takes ten times the effort just to move my limbs at a fraction of the pace, and I’m tired _constantly_ , and I can feel myself ageing, and I just…” He takes a breath, staring at the road. “I hate it.”

And, yeah.

Simon’s been collecting the puzzle pieces for ages, he’s just never been able to see the bigger picture.

“Why not ask me to Turn you now?” he asks, throat feeling like it’s clogged with cotton wool.

Raphael sighs. “It’s not been that long, and I know I need to…wait. I need to be sure. Besides, now’s not the time. Aarav needs our full attention, and I don’t know how my body will react to the change a second time.”

He’s really thought about it, and Simon wonders what he would have done if they’d never become friends. If he’d have returned to the Brooklyn clan, or made a bad decision with the first rove who’d face the Shadowhunters wrath. 

It’s a lot to ask.

 _Too much._

But—

Simon won’t pretend there’s not a vibration in his bones at the thought. He has a clan now, but Raphael’s always been something outside of that. Something more. It’s a strange, instinctual buzz, the idea of Turning Raphael, of Raphael being _there, always_ , and aside from his shitty experience with Camille and then Heidi, he doesn’t _actually_ know what it means to Turn someone, but…

“Okay,” he says, before he can second guess himself. Before he can admit that his fangs feel tight just at the _thought_. “I promise.”

Raphael’s entire frame seems to collapse with relief.

“Thank you.”

They stay sat there for a long time, letting the city slip into sleep around them.

 

 

**~**

 

 

The place the others decide upon is big enough to give Simon a heart attack, a town house with four floors and more bedrooms than necessary (“Please,” Maggie says. “What happens when you run into more poor vamps in need, huh?” Which. Simon’s not able to consciously think about that right now.) and a well-kept garden out back that all but screams wealth given space in New York. 

Jagger’s obviously been happily throwing money about because the windows have been fitted with specialized glass and heavy blackout curtains, and _someone’s_ having too much fun designing a decorating scheme that screams modern comfort. 

It’s an obscene expense, but it’s also close to a subway stop and near a couple of great bars with live music, and the others look centered in a way Simon’s yet to see them, and, well.

That’s worth a lot.

“Hey, have you finished boxing up the last of it?” he asks, letting himself into Raphael’s apartment for the last time. Like Simon’s own stuff, most of it was already at the new house, but Raphael had been reluctant to let the rest of them touch anything he’d owned before 2005.

When he doesn’t get a response, Simon sticks his head around the bedroom door.

Raphael’s curled up on top of the sheets, breathing even and eyelids fluttering. There’s a half-full box on the floor next to him and two piles of books balanced precariously on the dresser, like the nap had caught him unawares. The blinds are open and the sun’s a stripe across Raphael’s cheek; even the air feels still, like a moment trapped in time.

Simon’s chest feels like it’s hosting a rollercoaster. 

“Stop being creepy,” Raphael says, voice a slurred whisper, still on the edge of sleep, and Simon jerks back to himself.

“I literally just got here,” he says, “I wasn’t pulling an Edward Cullen, I swear.”

“I’m going to start a jar,” Raphael yawns, pulling himself upright. “Every time you make a vampire related pop culture reference you owe me ten dollars.” 

Simon weighs the pros and cons. “Fair.”

Raphael’s hair’s mussed and he still looks soft with sleep, blinking around the room like he’s trying to place where he is. Simon drops onto the end of the bed, making it bounce just to see Raphael’s eyes narrow.

“You gonna miss this place?” Simon asks. Personally Simon’s glad to be seeing the back of his rundown shoebox, but this was Raphael’s first home away from the Brooklyn clan in decades, and that must mean something.

“No,” Raphael says, and Simon frowns.

“Really?”

“It’s just an apartment,” Raphael says, and maybe it’s because he’s still half asleep or maybe it’s just because Simon can read him so well these days, but Simon hears what he’s really saying. The rollercoaster in his chest does as extra loop. 

“Well,” Simon says, trying to keep his tone neutral and probably failing magnificently, “are you ready to become clan co-leaders?”

Raphael shoots him an amused glance. “Pretty sure we’ve been doing that for months already.”

“Well, _yeah_ ,” Simon says, “but it’s about to be official. No take-backs. You’re stuck with us.”

And by _us_ he means _me_. 

Raphael shrugs. “It’s not like I had much else going on.”

Simon grabs a pillow to hit him with. “Hey!” he says. “Rude.”

Raphael steals the pillow from his hands, dropping it onto the pile of things to be packed. “Family’s important to me,” he says with forced casualness.

“They love you,” Simon says, because it’s true. Maggie and Jagger look up to Raphael, as their elder but as a person, too, and Aarav just adores him unconditionally.

Raphael’s jaw goes tight and he looks at the books on the side.

“I—” Simon starts, and coughs to try and shift the swell of emotion in his throat. “ _I_ love you. Maybe. Sort of. Shut up.”

“Why Mr _Darcy_ ,” Raphael drawls, and Simon loses it, pressing his face into the mattress. Raphael lies back down beside him, all his previous tension gone. “I’m already part of your clan. You don’t have to say that.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Simon says and pinches Raphael’s waist as sharply as he dares. “Have you _met_ me?! I’m the most uselessly romantic guy on the planet. I don’t just dive head first, I fucking throw myself out of metaphorical airplanes. I _cling_. Remember that phone call? You were totally wrong, I’m the clingiest guy in the _world_.”

The expression on Raphael’s face is a delightful mix of horror and fondness, and Simon wants to trace it with his fingertips.

“Come _on_ ,” Simon says, face feeling too warm, “you can’t tell me you haven’t noticed?”

“I didn’t want to presume,” Raphael says, and Simon laughs.

“We’re both idiots then.”

They lie there for a while just looking at each other, and it’s so stupid how good Simon feels. Raphael has always left Simon buzzing in his own skin in one way or another, and this isn’t really any different, just a slow, steady extension of something that’s always been a possibility.

(Lazy smirks and unnecessary touches, gentle eyes and stern empathy, always standing too close. Back in another life.)

From the moment he’d climbed over the balcony and back into Raphael’s world, he’s been wanting Raphael’s company _all the time_. And, yeah, early on it had stemmed from loneliness, he knows that, but Raphael’s attention has always been a spotlight, and Simon couldn’t back out of its warmth now if he tried.

He really does have a habit of falling in love with his friends.

“We should go,” Raphael says, eyes darting to the late afternoon sun, but Simon shakes his head.

“Just a little longer?”

Raphael’s smile is a small, delicate, dangerous thing.

“Okay,” he says.

Simon reaches out to tangle their hands together, and it feels like electricity. The flutter of Raphael’s racing pulse sounds like music, and Simon traces his finger over the vein on his wrist. 

“Have you ever thought about it?” Raphael asks, barely a whisper. “Biting me?”

Simon blinks. “No,” he says honestly. Maybe it’s because he still thinks of Raphael as being a vampire, maybe it’s because he’s in control of himself these days, or maybe it’s just because he associates Raphael with warmth and home and _family_ , and blood shouldn’t taint any of those things.

Maybe it’s option D, all of the above.

“I know,” Raphael says. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”

Simon’s not so slow as to miss a declaration of trust, and he squeezes Raphael’s hand gently because in the grand scheme of their history, that’s huge. More than Simon thinks he probably deserves, but then again he’s spent months handing his own across over coffee and flowers and books. 

They’ve had a lot of fresh starts, but this one feels _eternal_. 

It’d be overwhelming if Simon hadn’t been waiting for it.

Raphael lifts their tangled hands and presses a gentle kiss against the space between their fingers, and Simon’s toes curl against the end of the mattress. He can’t stop watching the way the light catches on Raphael’s cheekbone and the shadows of his eyelashes. 

“You haven’t said it back,” Simon says before he can stop himself, but Raphael just grins, slow and lazy.

“That I love you?” Raphael says, running the fingers of his free hand through Simon’s hair. “Baby, if I didn’t, I’d have staked you _years_ ago.”

And, well.

It probably says a lot about Simon that he finds that almost unbearably romantic, really.

“So are we going to seal this with a kiss yet, or…?” he asks because if he doesn’t lighten the mood it’s possible he’s going to explode. 

Of course then Raphael leans forward and presses their lips together and, really, Simon’s an idiot if he thought this would do anything except ruin him for the rest of his very long life.

 

 

**~**

 

 

“Night guys,” Aarav says around a yawn, finishing his breakfast just as the sun starts to make an appearance. “Or…is it day?”

“Night’s fine,” Raphael says, taking his mug and waving him away from the washing up. “We know what you mean.”

They watch him head sleepily to bed wearing the Spiderman pyjamas Maggie had bought him for his birthday, the hardwood creaking under his bare feet as he shuffles up the stairs, and Simon knows his expression is as soft as Raphael’s.

“What are your plans today?” he asks as Raphael turns the coffee machine back on.

“I want to go through the clan clauses, make sure no one’s trying to screw us over amidst very carefully worded welcomes, and Maggie asked me to look into her old clan members and check how they’re doing. I think she’d do it herself, but if anything’s wrong I don’t think she wants us to feel pressured into taking anyone else on.”

“…We’d totally take in her old clan if they needed it, wouldn’t we?” Simon says.

“Obviously,” Raphael agrees. “How about you?”

“I promised Jace I’d train with him later, which should be fun. Or painful.” He reaches for a mug, filling it with dark roast and pouring out another for Raphael. “Also, I want to pick up dinner for Izzy; she’s in the middle of some big negotiation and there’s no way she’s remembered that food exists.”

“So nothing this morning?” Raphael asks, eyeing him over the rim of his mug, and Simon grins.

“Nope,” he says, dragging out the o. “I’m all yours ’til this afternoon.” 

“Great,” Raphael says, stepping forward and tugging on Simon’s t-shirt, pressing a kiss against the corner of his mouth. Simon’s whole body sings. “Then you can help me file all the junk in the study.”

Simon sighs. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“Yep,” Raphael says, and Simon wants to kiss the smirk off his face. “Surely you remember _some_ things from your time as advisor to the interim chapter president.” 

“Wait,” Simon says, “was making out an option back then, too?”

Raphael pushes him back a step, rolling his eyes, but Simon doesn’t miss the flush on his neck and wow, that’s something they are absolutely going to be talking about later.

“We’ll need more coffee than this, so I’ll make a pot and be right in,” he says instead of calling it out, and Raphael’s smirk softens at the edges.

“Good plan,” he says, and kisses Simon properly, letting it linger in thanks and apology and just because. 

Simon thinks eternity’s about as long as he’ll need to get used to this.

“Coffee,” he says distractedly, before he loses himself completely. “Filing.”

Raphael presses his laugh against the curve of Simon’s neck. Upstairs, the others are getting ready for bed, the echoes of running water and shutting doors and careless domesticity. The radio on the counter’s playing an oldies station that Raphael and Jagger like, and Maggie’s crochet is still piled up on the kitchen table alongside Aarav’s homework and dirty cups. On the counter his phone buzzes with a text from Jace checking they’re still on for later, obviously having just got in for the night himself, and in the hallway there’s a large, rare piece of art that Magnus had gifted them with the promise that it was absolutely _not_ stolen, and had in fact been given to him by a very lovely gentleman as an expression of gratitude for… At Alec’s look, he’d cut himself off but they’d all got the idea. Even Izzy’s been by with a letter of Shadowhunter approval sealing the clan’s status, and a smile that says she’s happy for him, for _them_.

(He hopes he can show Clary everything he’s built too, one day.)

He wraps his arms around Raphael before he can step away, letting the moment last.

“Okay?” Raphael asks, lips grazing against his cheek, and Simon sighs, leaning into it.

“Yeah,” he says, and means it with everything he has. “Thank you.”

Raphael leans back with a confused frown. “For what?”

“For all of this,” Simon says, looking around the room. “For never trying too hard to get rid of me.”

“Oh trust me,” Raphael says, though his eyes are laughing, “I tried.”

“Well, I’m glad you failed then,” Simon says, and if it sounds too serious then he blames it on the early morning haze.

Raphael runs his thumb over Simon’s cheekbone before curling his hand around the back of his neck. “Me too,” he says, just as seriously, and Simon understands.

They’d both been lost, and now they aren’t.

 _God_ how there aren’t.

“Coffee,” he says, dropping one last kiss to Raphael’s temple. “Filing.”

“The way to a man’s heart,” Raphael says.

Standing amidst a family of their own making, life touching everything even in immortality, all Simon hears is _I love you_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'll never get over these idiots. always feel free to come chat about them with me on [tumblr.](https://madroxed.tumblr.com/)


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